Come Wake Me Up
by GoingVintage
Summary: "She's been sitting in a corner of the basement cafeteria for hours, watching the time tick by, minute by minute, on the screen of her phone. Every minute is agony." An Olitz one-shot, post-s2 ep7.


**Author's Note:** If you got a story alert and were expecting a Puckleberry story, I apologize. But Fitz and Olivia make my angsty shipper heart explode, hence this short one-shot. If you haven't seen the latest episode, stop reading now because you will be spoiled!

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The smell of coffee, greasy hash browns, and charred sausage turns her stomach. Thick, humid air swirls through the room and surrounds Olivia Pope, clinging to her clothes and hair, but she hardly notices. She's been sitting in a corner of the basement cafeteria for hours, watching the time tick by, minute by minute, on the screen of her phone. Every minute is agony. Every minute of waiting, of not knowing, feels one more step toward losing total control, which is something that she typically doesn't do. _Ever_. Even in her sadness, she finds her lips curling into a faint grin at the thought. Only _he_ could make her lose control.

Her wisp of a smile fades as the pain of the last few hours comes rushing back. Three floors above her, she knows there is nothing but utter chaos - the type of chaos she usually thrives upon. The media is outside, the night air resembling day due to the many camera lights shining toward the hospital doors. The reporters are undoubtedly anxious, jittery from gallons of Starbucks and nervousness as they wait for an update - any update - on the condition of President Fitzgerald Grant. _America_ is waiting.

It all feels, Olivia thinks, like the worst kind of nightmare. The kind that holds her in sleep like a prisoner as things get worse and worse. Her fight fades and the blackness of the dream dances around her, threatening to pull her down and keep her from ever getting free again. She wants to wake up and discover that this is all some kind of awful dream. She keeps hoping that when she blinks again, she'll be in her bedroom, a silk nightgown covering her body and none of this pain that is currently stabbing her in the heart.

Olivia sighs as she stares at her screen again. _It's not a dream, Olivia. Face it. _As she lifts her head and stares around the sparsely populated room, she speculates that, by now, Cyrus might have made some kind of statement to the nation. She wishes there was a television in the cafeteria so that she, too, could know if there's been an update. Guilt smacks her in the gut because she knows that she should be up there, standing supportively behind Cyrus' left shoulder as he lets the country know that their president will be okay, that the shooter will be swiftly caught and brought to justice, and that this national tragedy, like those before it, shall pass into the annals of Presidential history. Then again, at this point, all that is just hope and conjecture. Fitz might _not_ be okay. Fitz might be dead now, his passing still a secret from the outside world - and from her.

That thought makes her breath catch. She clutches her chest as she closes her eyes and tells herself to get a grip. She has to remain calm and not panic. She tries again to focus on what she anticipates the scene is like upstairs. She pretends to be neutral about the whole thing, telling herself that she's still a consumate professional. The problem is that not only is her mind focused solely on the man in a narrow hospital bed three floors up. Her heart is there, too. All she wants is to be standing by Fitz's bed, holding his hand, whispering in his ear. Letting him know that he'll be all right. Letting him know that he's too strong to not pull through. Letting him know that she loves him.

She'd had her chance earlier, right before Fitz was about to be wheeled into surgery and just a few fleeting seconds after Mellie stepped out to talk to the doctor, Olivia had slipped into the room. The Secret Service agents holding vigil barely blinked because they were so used to seeing her with Fitz. They merely nodded quietly and went back to their stoic poses, their blank faces showing only duty and none of the concern Olivia knew that they, too, were feeling. Her vision was blinded by tears as she stared at Fitz. He was pale, his skin a pasty, ghostly white. The machines hooked up to him beeped and whirred, but she focused on the heart monitor, which was showing a strong, steady heartbeat. That gave her the strength to step forward and reach out. Her fingers slid over the back of his hand. His skin felt dry and clammy. Usually, one touch of his skin to hers burned so hot that she felt the effects for hours afterward. New tears spilled over as she stood there, stroking her fingers over the back of his hand. Unable to say what she wanted to say with an audience, she mouthed the words "I love you" and squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaking down her cheeks. She managed to find that quiet part of herself as stood, thankful that she had this time to be there. She hoped that he knew she was there and could feel her love, radiating and strong, even for just one minute.

"You're not welcome here."

Mellie's voice had pulled her from her silent vigil, forcing Olivia to jerk back guiltily. She turned to face the First Lady, opening her mouth to speak. Mellie, looking calm and collected but her eyes glittering with anger, raised a hand to silence her and then pointed toward the door. "Just go. Now."

As the memory of Fitz lying in the hospital bed and Mellie's anger fades away, Olivia stares at her sterile, unfriendly surroundings and another tear slides from her eye. She wipes it away. Now is not the time to cry. She's done that already tonight. A lot. So much, in fact, that Edison figured everything out. All it took was one look at her face as the scene played out for him to see the love and concern and absolute misery - all directed towards another man. She had expected anger, and had the chaos not been what it was, had the victim been anybody but the President of the United States, Olivia knows Edison would have shown that anger. He would have yelled. He would have shaken his fists and stormed out of her life. Instead, she could see that he tucked it away, put all his questions on the back burner, and placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the car that would take them both the the hospital.

Alone now, with Edison having left hours before with the deep but stern promise of "we'll talk later", Olivia is using her last quiet moments to pull together her strength. She knows she has to stand up and walk out of that hospital cafeteria sooner or later. She can't hide out. She's not one to retreat and hide from anything. She's built her reputation by grabbing the biggest, ugliest problem by the proverbial balls and not letting go until there's not even the hint of a problem left. But it's _Fitz_. Fitz is her weakness, her Achilles heel. Everything about her seems to change when it comes to him. Her determination bleeds away into desire. Her strength fizzles and the need to be held takes over. Her drive to be a powerful woman gives way to the fact that she simply _is_ a woman and Fitz is very much a man. He's had that power from the moment they first locked eyes all those years ago on the campaign trail. He's the one chink in her armor, and her heart will break if she loses him forever. She's made peace with the fact that she has to live without him, but she's not sure she can reconcile the idea of knowing that their conversation in that empty restaurant, when he told her that they were done and walked away, was her last interaction with him. She thinks that, if she has to carry around that memory as her _last_ memory of him, it very well might kill her.

"Olivia! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you." Olivia jumps at the sound of her name and turns to see Cyrus barreling toward her, his hair mussed and standing at odd ends like he'd been dragging his fingers through it over and over again for hours. He reaches a hand out to her and helps her stand up, but doesn't immediately let go. Instead, he squeezes her fingers and says, "The doctors said he's going to be okay. They got out the bullet, repaired the damage, and controlled the blood loss. He's in a medically-induced coma so that they can keep him still for a few days and let the repaired arteries heal unimpeded, but they'll wake him as soon as they can." Cyrus' eyes, which have gazed at her through the years with varying levels of emotion, from steely coldness to unguarded warmth, show nothing but concern as he gives her a tired smile. "He's going to make it, Olivia."

All she can do is nod as relief rushes through her like a gale force wind. She manages to smile as Cyrus cups her cheek and says, "Okay, Olivia Pope, I need you. _He_ needs you. Will you help?"

Olivia smiles and stands tall for the first time in hours. Her confidence returns because, regardless of how much insanity reigns supreme right now, it's going to be okay. _Fitz_ is going to be okay. So now? She has a job to do. She has to get upstairs and stand by Cyrus' side as he speaks to the world and lets everyone know that their prayers and kind thoughts, combined with the best medical treatment available, have worked - President Fitzgerald Grant will live to lead the country through the rest of his term and beyond.

As she walks with Cyrus towards the elevator, she thinks about the investigation that's to come. Every government agency in existence will be looking for the shooter, but so will her team. And personally, her bets are on Pope and Associates. They've got the best technology, the best investigative tools, and they have Huck. Huck himself is a one-man army. Those responsible for shooting Fitz don't stand a chance.

Olivia heaves a sigh of relief as the elevator doors close around her. She can feel her strength and control zipping back to life. When the doors open to the lobby, a thousand camera bulbs start flashing. She can barely hear Cyrus over the voices of the throng of reporters all shouting at them. Cyrus steps up to the podium and Olivia stands by his side, feeling nothing but peace as the cameras all focus on them. After all, she's Olivia Pope, and this is what she was born to do.


End file.
